


The Awakenings

by Pink_Milk101



Category: 1984 - George Orwell
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Character Death, Gen, Sad, Sad Ending, Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 20:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Milk101/pseuds/Pink_Milk101
Summary: This is like an alternate ending to the book 1984.Or it can be seen as a partial continuation of the ending to the actual book.I suggest if you have not read the book, then to do that first.This has some spoilers.





	The Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

> I do not take credit for anything other than the plot of this oneshot.
> 
> I do not own the original story or the characters. 
> 
> All rights go to the author, George Orwell.

He had finally loved Big Brother. And so, he had been shot.

 

She had seen it. Julia had  _ seen _ it.

 

She had been there that day, and to be completely honest with herself, she had been watching him. She had been watching Winston.

 

She could see the bitterly happy smile on his face. She could sense the relief flooding from his eyes at his victory over himself.

 

It still brought a shiver down her spine every time she remembered the sound of the gunshot. It still brought back  _ those _ memories.

 

It brought back Room 101.

 

*********************

 

That day, they had found her again, and forcibly dragged her to the Chestnut Cafe. They had kept her a reasonable enough distance away. But it felt like she was too close.

 

It felt like she was right there next to him. It felt like a small part of her was dying along with him.

 

But she didn't know if that was the truth. She didn't know how much she still cared for him. 

 

She knew he had sold her away to be gnawed at by the rats, but she didn't blame him. Not entirely. Because the rats were the one thing he was most afraid of. 

 

If they had brought her the thing she feared most, she may have sold him just as quickly.

 

Now that she thought about it, what was the thing that she feared most?

 

She had pondered over that question for the past few years that she had been in the Party, but she hadn't really realized what it was until now.

 

She was afraid. She was afraid of being told that all of the things she had done against The Party were in vain. She was afraid that they would say that they were okay with whatever she had done in the past. 

 

But, she forgot. What was it that she’d done in the past? What was it that she had been so proud of?

 

All she could remember was the stale smell of Room 101. The only thing she could truly remember was the room itself. The colorless tiles of the floor, the grey-looking rusted doors, and how small it was. 

 

For the majority of the time she had been there, all she really got to look at to distract herself from the pain was the ceiling. The blank and often cracked ceiling. It was always there, through all of her torture, it had been there.

 

It was similar to a jail cell really. That room itself had been a torture worse than death.

 

*************************

 

She knew she felt a certain way when she thought of the Party, but she didn't know what that feeling was. She couldn't see it as love or appreciation for some reason, but she knew it was still a strong feeling.

 

Julia spent most of her life like that, pondering over her feelings for the Party, for Big Brother, which always remained unclear to her.

 

Until her death. 

 

When she was shot. 

 

She hadn't expected it, but at that moment when she heard the gunshot go off, she was suddenly reminded of Winston. 

 

And then she knew how he had felt. She felt relieved and she could feel the small smile spreading across her face as she was falling. She had felt relief for the very first time in a long time, and she knew then, that she did love Big Brother. 

 

For some odd reason that escaped her, she loved Big Brother.

And so, she died a death similar to Winston’s. She died a death similar to all of the people who had been awakened.

 

She died an easy death.

 

She was free of the unfair world that everyone was born into.

 

****************************

 

On the other hand, O’Brien had remained.

 

Years after both Winston and Julia had died, he felt empty.

He actually felt empty and uncertain and confused.

 

Everyday after Winston had died, O’Brien would think of the diary that he had. He would never take it from the bookshelf in his work room, but he would always be thinking about it.

 

It haunted his thoughts, and he became increasingly afraid.

 

Afraid of the diary itself, afraid of the thoughts, and most of all, afraid of giving himself away.

 

He had always remained loyal to the Party, to Big Brother.  But he felt as if he was being punished for something, he never questioned why though.

 

He felt as if he was being tested for his loyalty, and he tried desperately to pass the cruel examination.

 

Still, he would always think of the cruel words written in that old diary.

 

It had yellowed pages, grown hard and stiff with age, but for the first time it seemed as if the words spoke truth. For the first time in his life, O’Brien felt as if something didn't make sense to him.

 

For the first time in his life, O’Brien questioned the Party.

 

He felt ashamed, and disappointment clouded him like the ever-clouded skies outside.

 

Even as time went by, days, weeks, month, years. He tried. He tried so hard to forget the cruel words that seemed like truth. He tried desperately to deny himself the feeling of relief and certainty that he felt for the first time. 

 

Even after he tried to turn himself in for his terrible acts of treason, he felt it. That lingering feeling of finally finding the purpose of something. 

 

He almost went crazy. 

 

They had denied him. THEY HAD DENIED TAKING HIM IN AND CURING HIM.

 

He almost lost it, but then he realized something. He thought, why should he feel like this, why should he have to deal with this.

 

So he made up his mind. Even as his mind twisted his reality, he changed himself. 

 

He had an awakening.

 

He realized the truth in what Winston had written, and he felt strong dislike for himself. He felt as if he was betraying everything that had ever existed for him.

 

He felt as if he was truly lost and had become mentally deranged. Everything he had denied for the past 30 years of his life came back to him. He remembered.

 

He remembered the past; the changing past. He remembered the differences in his days, his weeks, and the tremendous weight of change that had led his life.

 

********************

 

At some point, he became content.

 

He accepted the truth. The truth written in dark and clumsy lettering. The truth that was simple, yet held so much against him and his previous beliefs.

 

So he was content. He remained content for months, even years. But it didn't last. It couldn't last.

 

Eventually it became too much, and he was almost inclined to act upon his new beliefs.

 

But he was a coward in reality. In his reality. 

 

So he made up his mind. 

 

He planned his own death. 

 

And he acted upon that impulse. That feeling that remained so strong in him.

 

Even as he grabbed the gun that he had the privilege of owning. Even as he placed it on his work space. Even as he turned off the telescreen. He knew.

 

He knew that this feeling, this awakening was inevitable. It was bound to happen, because truth had an existence. It was unchangeable, it was everlasting, and once it was there, it was a pain to get rid of.

 

O’Brien had a feeling of guilt. Of remorse and sudden sorrow for his actions. He remembered the torture he had inflicted upon Winston, and he felt something surprising. He felt as if he had betrayed someone he was close with. He felt as if he had betrayed something that was beyond him. 

 

He felt as if this feeling, this relief and certainty was a privilege that he had been lucky enough to earn. He felt the smile creep onto his face, even as he was ending his own life.

 

He felt the relief creeping up on his heart. He felt the feeling of trust growing in his mind, even as he held the gun up to his head. 

 

He felt the years slipping past his eyelids, for a life wasted on nonsense and cruel lies. He felt the feelings of disappointment and disgust for himself emerging from the depths of his brain.

 

They had remained dormant for the longest time. Shrouded by darkness and  _ untruth _ . They were the feelings that most described him in his truth. In his reality, even as it ended.

 

He had no regrets for what he was doing. He felt the lightness in his body, even before he pulled the trigger. 

 

And once again he felt empty. But this time it was an appreciated emptiness.

 

Because he had a realization. That no matter what, the truth is inevitable. Even as a person’s life changes, even as it begins and even as it ends, the truth remains.

 

It remains waiting to be uncovered, and then it creeps up on a person until it takes over their life.

 

It remains, to be unveiled. It remains, to be treasured.

 

And that was the last thing he thought, before he ended his life.

 

A life full of nonsense and lies and uncertainty. A life that held secrets left uncovered. A life that wasn't his own.

 

He pulled the trigger, and he fell.

 

He fell into a darkness so deep that he accepted it with open arms. Hoping that this time, he may find the truth, before it began waiting for him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Leave a like or a comment if you want.
> 
> Any type of feedback is appreciated.


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